Chelsie OTP prompts
by chelsie fan
Summary: A collection of OTP prompt responses for our favorite couple.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Thank you so much for your wonderful reaction to "The House on Brouncker Road." After the loveliness of the CS, I wondered if I ever would write again. (Don't mess with the perfection of THE SCENE, right?) But I did try, and your support led me to try again. Thank you.**

**Some of you said that "The House on Brouncker Road" made you sad. It's my hope that this pure, unadulterated fluff will restore your spirits. This story is in answer to a tumblr prompt from otpdisaster. I initially wrote a brief response in a tumblr post, and thanks to encouragement from brenna-louise, putmeinyourpocketmike (libbybell), and onesimus42, I expanded it a bit. The prompt is this: "Person B of your OTP not letting Person A get out of bed by aggressively cuddling them." I was just tickled at the notion of aggressive cuddling, because aggression and cuddling seem pretty incongruous to me. Here's my take on it.**

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><p><em>Early morning in the Carsons' cottage…<em>

Mrs. Carson sighed and started to roll away from her husband. "I suppose I'd better get up and get started."

Mr. Carson opened one eye, wrapped his arm firmly around his wife's waist, pulled her back to his chest, and spooned her tightly. "Five more minutes, love," he rumbled sleepily.

"You do remember that Beryl and Bill are coming for tea?" she reminded him.

He softly caressed her stomach and draped one of his legs over hers, restraining her more securely. "But that's _hours _away. We can have a bit of a lie-in. Give me four more minutes. Please?"

"But I've got so much to do!" she countered. "Cooking and tidying … They're our very first visitors, and I want everything to be perfect."

"And everything _will _be perfect," he assured her as he kissed her shoulder. "I'll help. We'll be done and ready in no time. Please, love? Just three more minutes?"

"But I am to _bake biscuits_ – that will be eaten by _Beryl Pat- _I mean _Mason_! I don't mind telling you I'm a bit worried they won't be up to her standards." She half-heartedly tried to wriggle out of his insistent embrace.

"You are a wonderful cook, my dear. I've certainly become a bit thicker around the middle since you've been feeding me. Your biscuits will be delicious. _You're_ delicious," he whispered seductively as his kisses moved to her neck and his hand rose to her bosom. "Now, just lie here with me for two more minutes, and then we'll get to the biscuits and all the rest."

"Charles Carson! Are you trying to ply me with sweet words and tender caresses?" she accused, feigning disapproval.

"That is _precisely_ my intention, Elsie Carson!" he admitted as he stroked her bottom and nibbled her ear. "I'll settle for one more minute."

"I'd love to, dear, but – " she began.

He turned her over, rolled himself on top of her, and trapped her playfully underneath him as he pressed her down gently into the mattress. "Very well. You win. We'll get up. But I'm not going anywhere – and neither are you – until I get a proper good morning kiss."

"I think I can agree to that," she conceded.

Five minutes and _many _kisses later, he reluctantly disentangled himself from her and started to rise, sighing. "All right, then. Let's get moving."

She pulled him back down, pushed him against the pillows, climbed on top of him, and kissed him thoroughly. "Just five more minutes, darling. Please?" she purred sweetly.

An hour later, they finally rose.

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><p>That afternoon, when Mr. and Mrs. Mason arrived, everything was in order. The cottage was tidy, the biscuits were hot out of the oven, and the water for tea was set to boil. However, it was fortunate that the Masons arrived late; for if they had arrived on time, they surely would have caught the Carsons in a rather compromising situation.<p>

After exchanging pleasantries, the men chatted amiably in the parlor, and the women went to attend to things in the kitchen.

"Elsie, I've something to tell you," began Mrs. Mason as she placed some biscuits on a plate.

"Yes, Beryl? What is it?" asked Mrs. Carson while she wet the tea.

"Well, you've a floury handprint on your backside." The newly-retired cook had to fight back a grin.

"Have I? Oh, well, I must have wiped my hand there earlier." The former housekeeper colored a charming shade of pink while trying to brush the flour from her skirt.

"If that were the case, love, _your_ thumb would have been facing _down_. And besides _that_ … I don't think _your_ hand is quite that large. By any chance, did Charles help with the biscuits?"

"That's a lovely new blouse, Beryl."

"Thank you, but don't change the subject."

"Only, you've a button undone, here at the back of your neck. Did you perhaps dress in a hurry? Is that why you were late? Next time, you should ask Bill to make sure you're done you up properly."

Mrs. Mason covered her face and burst into a fit of giggles, and Mrs. Carson couldn't help but join her friend's laughter.

"What a sight we are!" cried Mrs. Mason. "At least married life agrees with us."

"That it does, dear. That it does," agreed Mrs. Carson.

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><p>The men in the parlor were completely unaware of the reason for the merriment coming from the kitchen, but both smiled fondly at hearing their wives so happy.<p>

"I daresay marriage suits them both," suggested Mr. Carson rather proudly.

"Yes, I think it does," Mr. Mason concurred. "And us, too, I think."

"I certainly have no complaints. We're two very fortunate men, Mr. Mason."

"That we are, Mr. Carson. That we are."

**Please drop a review to let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N This little fic is for Batwings79, who requested a response to the following prompt from tumblr user evilpotato512: "**_**Imagine the most serious character you know. Now imagine them getting scared by the toaster going off as they walk by.**_**"**

**In order to appreciate what follows, you might benefit from a brief historical note about toasters. The electric toaster was invented in 1893 by a Scotsman, Alan MacMasters, but the first commercially successful toaster, manufactured by General Electric, didn't appear until 1909. Early toasters browned only one side of the bread at a time and did not automatically turn off. In 1919, Charles Strite patented the automatic pop-up toaster. The Waters Genter Company's Model 1-A-1 was introduced commercially in 1925-1926; it was the first toaster that cooked both sides of the bread simultaneously, had a timer to shut the heating element off, and popped up the toast when it was done. On a somewhat related note, (pre-)sliced bread first appeared in 1928.**

**Please enjoy my silly, little fic, and do leave a review if you can spare a few seconds. Thanks!**

_The Carsons' cottage, 1926_

Elsie began the breakfast preparations while Charles laid the table. As she busied herself at the counter and at the stove, he went back and forth between the cupboards and drawers and the kitchen table, acquiring the necessary dishes and utensils and setting them neatly in place. Just before reaching around her to open a drawer, he gave her bottom a playful pinch, which earned him a loving swat on the shoulder. Then, after stretching over her to close a cupboard, he tickled her sides; that garnered him a gentle poke in the stomach.

"My, my, Mr. Carson! You certainly are frisky this morning!" Elsie observed.

"It's only that _you_ are so _beautiful_ this morning, Mrs. Carson," explained Charles, drawing her into his arms and kissing her. She eagerly returned his affections. They exchanged kisses and caresses for a few minutes before she began to pull away regretfully.

"Where are you going?" he wanted to know.

"I'm sorry, dear, but the toast will burn if I don't turn it now," she apologized, sliding over to the toaster.

"I still don't know why we had to bring that blasted thing with us," he griped. "I should have insisted you leave it behind at the big house when we retired."

"You agreed we could bring it with us because you love me," she reminded him as she turned the bread to brown the other side.

"Well, then, it's lucky for you that I love you so much. If I loved you any less, that … that … " – he fumbled for an appropriate derogatory term while pointing at the offending implement – "_that!_ … wouldn't be here!"

"But you _don't_ love me any less, and I _do_ know how lucky I am, and _that_ … _is_ here! Now, where were we before we were interrupted?" Having started up the toaster again, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, silencing his protests.

He let himself be soothed by her soft lips and her warm breath and her sweet words and her delicate fingers. He was lulled into such a state of bliss that he almost didn't notice a faint burning smell coming from the counter.

"Erm … Elsie?" he questioned, breaking their kiss. "Do you smell that?"

"Smell what, Charles? Oh! The bread!"

She hurried to the toaster, but it was too late. There were small flames licking out of the holes on the sides and swirls of smoke coming out of the top. She unplugged the cord, wet a dish towel, and smothered the fire. Charles bravely carried the still-smoldering remains of the toaster outside, and Elsie trailed behind him waving another towel to clear the smoke.

As they stood on the back porch looking down at the now-defunct appliance on the ground, Charles remarked, "I will admit that I am not sorry to see it go, but I would have preferred to give it less dramatic send-off." Elsie could only chuckle.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Good morning, love," said Charles as he walked into the kitchen to find Elsie standing at the stove, cooking their breakfast. "Why didn't you wake me?" He stood behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, leaned over her shoulder, and planted a kiss on her cheek.

"I tried, but you wouldn't budge," she teased as she turned the eggs.

"That's not true, and you know it!" he defended himself.

"Well, I didn't try very hard, I'll admit," allowed Elsie, flipping the bacon in the pan. "I kissed your forehead, but when you didn't stir, I couldn't bring myself to disturb you any further. You looked so peaceful."

"I was having a wonderful dream."

"Oh? What was it about?" She leaned down to open the oven and check the sweet rolls, playfully pressing her bottom against him as she bent over.

"It was the same one I wake to every morning. I dream that the kindest, cleverest, prettiest girl in the world has married me."

"Oh, my! That _is_ a nice dream." Deciding the rolls needed a few more minutes, she stood and faced her husband.

He pulled her into his arms. "It's a very _strange_ dream, though. It continues when I wake and never goes away."

"Well! I married a real charmer!" she said before sweetly kissing his lips. "Now, why don't you go and see if the paper's come yet? It wasn't there yet when I brought in the milk. The lad's been late this week."

"I'll have a word with him."

"If you do, you shall find yourself crosswise with your wife! He's been helping his mother with the new baby while his father's working."

"Hmph. Likely excuse! That's no justification for tardiness," he muttered as he headed for the front door.

It took Charles only a moment to retrieve the newspaper, and when he returned, there was a cup of tea on the table at his place. "Thank you, dear," he acknowledged as he sat down and opened the morning paper.

Elsie continued to bustle about the kitchen, while he sipped his tea and commented on the things he was reading, mostly grumbling about the way the world was changing. He was engrossed in an article about the current session of Parliament as she moved to the counter and started to slice some bread.

"I'm eager to try this new toaster," she said as she put a slice of bread into her newest kitchen appliance. "Daisy recommended it. She says it's the very latest – from America. They've got one just like it at the Abbey now."

"Mm-hmm," he replied, paying no attention whatsoever to what she was saying and doing.

While the bread was browning in the toaster, she ladled the porridge into bowls and put the bacon, eggs, potatoes, and tomatoes on two plates. She set the plates on the counter next to the toaster and placed the bowls on the table. Just as she bent to look over his shoulder at the paper, the toast popped up, startling Charles, who spilled his tea on his paper and fell off his chair. Frightened as he was, he had the presence of mind to protect his wife. Crying, "Elsie! Get down!" he quickly pulled her to the floor with him and scrambled under the table. He carefully cradled her in his arms against his chest as he pressed her back against the floor, covering her body with his own. When her initial surprise at his drastic reaction wore off, Elsie started to laugh.

"I fail to see what's so amusing!" he complained angrily. "That bloody contraption is defective! It might explode at any moment, and you're _laughing_!"

"Oh, Charles!" she said, still chortling. "It's _supposed_ to do that! These new toasters turn off on their own, and they pop the bread up when it's done cooking. That way, the toast can't burn."

"You mean it's _supposed_ to scare the daylights out of me? That took ten years off my life! And I haven't got that many left!" protested Charles indignantly.

"Now, don't exaggerate, love. It's just a wee, harmless thing!"

"_Harmless?_! That … that … _device_ … is dangerous! I am _not_ exaggerating!"

"Darling, we're cowering under the kitchen table, hiding from a little cooking apparatus. I'd say that's a bit extreme."

"Yes, well … I have a duty, as your husband, to protect you."

"From the big, bad toaster? Oh, yes. I do feel quite safe under your protection. Actually," she pondered further, running her hands over his shoulders suggestively, "I do rather like this arrangement."

"Oh, do you now?" he asked flirtatiously, his defiance dissipating as he kissed her neck.

"Yes, I believe I do. And you know, there _is_ one advantage to this new toaster that you've neglected to take into account," she whispered while nibbling his earlobe. "We won't need to interrupt our activities to turn it off."

"You're certain it won't burst into flames?" he asked as he cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Mm-hmm," she assured him.

"The toaster can stay," he agreed before kissing her ardently.

Half an hour later, having concluded their amorous encounter, they ate their cold – but _unburned_ – toast, along with the rest of their cold breakfast. Neither complained.


End file.
